What Are Friends For?
by Molly Lyn
Summary: She shrugs, doesn't divert her attention from where she's emptying her kitchen sink. "It's no problem, I wasn't doing anything. Besides, what are friends for?" Open to suggestions for the genre, wasn't sure what to put.


**A/N: So, went and read a little **_**Playergurl89 **_**oneshot and sorta got to thinking and it lead to this… should be interesting, I don't think I've written anything where Sam & Jules weren't together. Don't worry, as always, there will be jam. HA! Now, I encourage you all to read it with an evil voice: "There will be jam!" bahaha. oh dear…**

* * *

The pounding in his head tells him he _may _have been drinking last night. Could just be the aftershocks of what he's certain were terrible dreams, although he doesn't remember them. The way the light blinds him confirms the drinking theory. Beams streaming in between blinds make a full blown assault on his corneas, and he rolls back over, burying his face in the pillow. He's greeted with a pile of ruffly throw pillows, which successfully sets off the alarm.

He's not in his own bed.

Whose bed _is_ he in?

"If you want a ride to work I suggest you get up."

He immediately jerks his head towards the door. _Jules._ Not only was he drinking, but he was drinking a lot. Possibly the whole keg. He wonders if maybe he got distracted walking past the U of T dorms on his way home and decided to crash a kegger.

"There's coffee downstairs." Its a passing comment. She hasn't even stopped to look at him at any point in their incredibly one sided conversation. He lets out a groan - going to be a long day - but thankfully, there's coffee.

Evidently he was enough of a mess last night that he couldn't be bothered to, or was physically unable to, get undressed before passing out in Jules' guest room. All he managed to remove was his t-shirt and belt. His shoes are off too, but he's guessing Jules just didn't want them dirtying the quilt.

He finds her in the kitchen, half finished her own breakfast. "There's bread if you want toast."

He simply shakes his head, helps himself to a cup of coffee. "No food please."

She smirks, though its more sadistic than in amusement. Clearly she's not terribly pleased about how he ended up there last night. "Here," she says, handing him a bottle of advil.

"Thanks," he replies, gratefully washing a few down with his coffee. He's trying to piece together the night before, but all he's coming up with is a dimly lit bar, a bottle of whisky, and a complicated phone call. "Thanks for coming to get me last night."

She shrugs, doesn't divert her attention from where she's emptying her kitchen sink. "It's no problem, I wasn't doing anything. Besides, what are friends for?"

His eyebrows shift skeptically as he tries to decipher the tone in her voice. It's not quite annoyance, but picking his drunken ass up was certainly more of an issue than she's verbalizing. He considers for a moment why he's at her house, but for the life of him he can't figure it out. "Why didn't you just take me to my place?"

She turns to face him for the first time since he entered the room, and he wishes she hadn't - it would have been better if he couldn't see he subtle scowl marring her features. "You don't remember?"

He shrugs, squints as he tries to remember whatever it is he seems to have forgotten, searching for answers in the bottom of his coffee cup.

"We stopped to get you some sober up coffee and you flushed them."

His head shoots up from the uncooperative mug in shock. "Excuse me?"

"Still not sure how that happened. Anyway you insisted you couldn't go home because that electric key thing for the front door of the building got all wet and shorted out and so here we are."

* * *

"Spike, Word', Sam. 'Morning," Ed greets as he saunters into the locker room. When the reply from Sam is a simple groan, the leader takes a minute to study his teammate. "How many?"

Sam shakes his head, quickly stopping as he realizes it won't help his current physical situation. "Not how many - What. Whiskey. Horrible idea."

Spike tilts his head in confusion. "Whiskey? Really? Isn't the devil drink usually tequila? I mean really, whiskey can be some tasty stuff. Ever try a whiskey sour?"

Sam cringes, shoots his teammate a filthy glare. "That's helpful."

Wordy simply smirks from his position across the room, his expression turning to a grin as Jules joins them. "Morning Jules."

"Hey guys. Boss wants us in the briefing room, something about a raid… or parade… his nose was in a file, kind of mumbled the whole thing," she laughs.

The team nods, finishes up in their lockers as a thought dawns on Wordy. "Hey wait, Jules, how was the date with the lawyer?"

Sam freezes in his spot as he suddenly pieces together the past 24 hours. Jules leaving surprisingly on time after shift yesterday; the dress she was in when she found him outside the bar; the two sets of dishes she was putting in the dishwasher when he joined her in the kitchen this morning; the half empty bottle of wine on her dining room table. Oh god. He's going to hell.

"Yeah, what was his name again?" Ed adds. "Alvin?"

Spike gives a laugh, corrects his teammate. "No, it was Simon. The smart chipmunk, remember?"

Wordy laughs, but takes the responsibility of moving things along. "Anyway, how was the date?"

Jules rolls her eyes, doesn't even look in Sam's direction. "For the record, his name is Simon, and he's not a chipmunk. Not that it matters, because I don't think it's going to work out."

Wordy gives a sympathetic frown. "Not a good night?"

"Uhm," she pauses, sighs to herself. "Had to cancel. Something came up."

There's a chorus of _that happens_ and _too bad_ before the group makes their way out of the room. Just as they reach the door Sam tugs on Jules' arm, inviting her to stay behind for a moment with him.

"Jules, I'm so sorry I didn't know you had a date or else I would have never-"

"It's fine Sam."

"Jules-"

"Sam. Stop it. Your call was perfect timing, saved by the bell type deal. It wasn't going to work out. Character flaws, you know?"

He studies her face a minute, considers what she's telling him. "'You sure?"

She nods, gives him a half smile. "Yeah. Just umm, wasn't meant to be I guess."

He nods back, slowly, apologizes again before leaving her alone in the locker room. Jules takes a minute, a few deep breaths to steady herself. _Character flaws, yeah. Wasn't meant to be. Wasn't meant to be with the freakin' defence lawyer with a psychology degree who actually gets why she does what she does, and what each subject is going through. Ha. _She'd walked out on the literal Mr Wright in the middle of possibly the best date she's had since… and all because _he_ called. Oh god, what has she done?


End file.
